


"A Tiny, Super-Sexy Dragon"

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dolls is Cocky, Drunk!Nicole, F/M, Nonna is Mortified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: “So, you want me to be bored with you?” he asks, and she can almostseehis eyebrow tick upward.“That’s exactly what I want, haven’t you been listening?” she says, omitting theduh.





	"A Tiny, Super-Sexy Dragon"

Given her life to this point, it’s safe to say Wynonna Earp has a handful of regrets.  In this moment, though, _days_ before she’s supposed to be pushing a fully-formed human (mostly human?) infant out of her, her biggest regret is allowing herself to be dragged out to watch the Purgatory Fire Department absolutely hand the sheriff’s department’s _asses_ to them at softball.  That, and agreeing to play Sober Sister for Nicole and Waves.  She’d tried to sit at their table, but had felt oddly left out of the totally normal conversation around her—in spite of the longstanding rivalry between the two departments, Nicole has the innate, freaky ability to make friends.  She’s distressingly normal and, in spite of that, likeable.

But she can’t listen to her rehash the game and her one good pitch anymore.  She’s repeated it roughly four times, steadily getting louder, drunker, and Wynonna is just _consumed_ with envy.  As much as she likes hanging out at Shorty’s, all huge belly and sullen face making everyone uncomfortable, she’s beginning to think she shoulda just hung out elsewhere.

There’s a burst of laughter and she goes outside, boots crunching on gravel as she goes to lean against the Jeep and fuck with her phone.  Eventually, bored and alone and disgustingly sober, she dials Dolls, free hand shoved into her pocket.  He picks up on the second ring and answers, “Is everything okay?”

Guiltily, she kicks at a rock.  “I—I’m fine, I’m just DD tonight and wanted—” she pauses, swallows, feels suddenly nervous and _stupid_.  “I wanted you to get your ass out here.”  His own silence makes her feel hot with embarrassment and she’s almost about to tell him to forget it when she hears him groan, put-upon but exaggerated to a degree that makes her laugh, “C’mon, don’t be a dick, come watch me make people feel weird by just _existing_ near them while they make bad decisions.”

“You probably shouldn’t call me a dick if you’re gonna keep asking me to come out,” he chides.

“Please,” she whines, “ _Please_ don’t make me hang out here alone!  My sister is making goo-goo eyes and I’m so bored!”

“So, you want me to be bored with you?” he asks, and she can almost _see_ his eyebrow tick upward.

“That’s exactly what I want, haven’t you been listening?” she says, omitting the _duh_. 

Another silence, this one a little longer and she rocks on her feet a little.  She’s already preparing herself for a refusal when she hears, “ _Fine_ , I’ll be there in twelve.”

Maybe a little more than is called for, she grins as she hangs up.  Smug warmth swells in her chest—she’s still smiling when he gets there, small and self-satisfied as she waits for him to get over whatever crisis he seems to be having in the front seat of the SUV.  At length, he _does_ push himself out and takes his sweet time _meandering_ over.

“Hey,” she says.  “C’mon, I’ll buy you a water.”

“The water’s free—the _everything_ is free, you know the owner,” he replies, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose, all soft sweater and dark eyes in the meager light of the single streetlight in the lot.

“And?”

“And you should buy me a _beer_ ,” he says, eyes narrowed but lips curved.  The baby has a party right against her bladder and she pretends that’s why she doesn’t respond immediately.

Then, clearing her throat, she responds loftily, “Nope, I need sober solidarity.”

“Uh-huh.”

She _feels_ herself smiling like an idiot and it’s embarrassing and, Jesus, is she _twelve_?  But she’s powerless to stop herself, and he’s smiling, too, so it can’t be _that_ weird.  The moment stretches.

“Should we,” he starts, waving towards the bar, “Should we go in?”

_Right_ , _dumbass_ , she thinks, nodding silently.

Somehow, it feels awkward when he gets the door for her, leaning into it, and she feels like she passes him too closely, feels something like staticky shock when her elbow brushes against his chest.  And even once they’re inside she _feels_ him behind her—he’s not touching her, she doesn’t even think he’s that close, she’s just _aware_ of him.  He follows her to the bar, where she lets her fingers tap messy and out of rhythm until Rosita notices them.  There’s a moment where she and Dolls just stare at each other and she keeps meaning to ask, you know, _what the fuck_ , because there’s always been that tension between them, but usually they’re about to die so she forgets.  _Eventually_ , she lets Wynonna order, smiles a little when she morosely asks for water and “whatever this guy wants.”

“Water’s fine,” he says, shoulder knocking against hers as he drops his elbows onto the bartop.

Rosita’s head bobs but she stays silent.  Wynonna hands her a five when she sets two glasses in front of them, not unsympathetic with the whole ‘missing out on tips’ thing.  She’s just about to take a drink when someone lands heavily into her side and she _barely_ manages to keep her stomach from hitting the bar as she tenses up at the arm slung around her shoulder.

“I am _so glad_ you guys are here,” Nicole cries, voice thick with emotion.

Wynonna catches Dolls’ look over her head and snorts.  “Haught, I’ve _been_ here, remember?”

“No,” she warbles, pulling back, and now Wynonna can see she’s got her other arm around Dolls’ shoulders.  “I mean, you _two_ , I’m so glad you’re _both_ here.  Together!”

Eyebrows tilting in what she _hopes_ conveys _what can you do?_ , she rubs Nicole’s back a little and starts to pull away.  “Weren’t you just telling your firefighter buddies how _awesome_ your pitch was today?”

Eyes going wide, Nicole says, “Oh—oh, I _get_ it, sorry, Wynonna, I’ll leave you two alone.”  Which would be just dandy—less dandy are the knowing tone and waggling eyebrows, but still—except she doesn’t _leave_ , just wedges herself between them, facing Dolls.  “Do you know—do you know how much you guys interfere with my sex life?” she demands.

“Oh my god,” Wynonna moans, letting her forehead drop into her hand.

“I have never walked in on you,” Dolls says, carefully blank.

“No, no, no, listen,” she slurs, shaking her head and grabbing both of his shoulders urgently.  “You know how many times I’ve had to listen to—to Waverly complain about you?  You know how often I gotta hear about you two?  I’m just tryin’ to kiss my girlfriend!”

“I will pay you to shut up,” Wynonna hisses into her ear, trying to tug her away.

“She thinks you’re a tiny sexy dragon—are you a dragon?” she asks, suddenly earnest and seeming to have forgotten she just _ruined Wynonna’s life_.

Like an angel descending from heaven to save her from this terrible, terrible reality, Waverly appears by her side and asks hesitantly, “Babe?  Where are our drinks?”

If Wynonna weren’t so focused on how _mortified_ she is, she’d find the way Nicole’s face goes open and apologetic _hilarious_ as she says, “Oh, no, I forgot!”

Something must show on her face because Waves tugs her away with a gentle, coaxing, “Let’s go down here, where Rosita is, okay?”

Trying to look _less_ like she’s just been ratted out, Wynonna leans back against the bar and looks pointedly everywhere but Dolls as she does her best to drown herself in a glass of water.  All she ends up doing is drinking enough of it fast enough to make her feel a little queasy.

“So,” Dolls prompts, eyes on his own water, “A tiny sexy dragon?”

“Nope,” she says firmly, shaking her head.  “Not—nope.”

“Because, like, dragon?  Sure, I get that—I’m not _exactly_ a dragon, but I get it,” he continues as if she didn’t just try to nope her way out of this.  “Sexy—sexy I _definitely_ get,” he grins, and when she looks, it’s sharp and— _God_.  “But _tiny_?”

“Like—comparatively,” she responds, voice cracking.  Then, in an attempt to regain some of her dignity, _“Obviously_ , it wasn’t a dick thing, okay?  You’re a _huge_ dick.  Massive.  You should get it checked out by a doctor.  Immediately.  Right now.”  She takes another drink and eyes him, “You still here?”

“Wynonna,” he says, gentle and close and too warm, and his face is open and he looks like he’s steeling himself.  “If you think I’m sexy, you can just say so.”

“I hate you so much,” she breathes moodily.  _“So much_.”  He’s got that cocky smirk that really encourages a right hook.  She wills him to _say something_ —something like rejection, or something about the baby, or something about Doc—something to put them back on equal footing, put her back on familiar ground where she knows where she stands.  He doesn’t, so she puffs out a long breath and shoves her hair back and says, “I think I need some air.”

As she pushes away from the bar, she watches him rap his knuckles against the scarred wood, eyes down and tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.  Somehow, she manages to keep herself from _bolting_ outside, manages to keep her steps even and sure, but outside in the crisp early spring, she slouches against a wall and groans.  Tomorrow morning, she thinks, she’s gonna make Nicole’s life _hell_.  She deserves it.  Things were going _fine_.

“Well, kid,” she mumbles to her bulging belly, “I _had_ really hoped to introduce you to your Auntie Nicole, but it looks like I’m gonna have to murder her.”

“Don’t do that,” is said so close and so unexpectedly she jumps and goes for her gun before realizing it’s just Dolls, probably out here to taunt her some more.

“Jesus _Christ_ , dude, wear a _bell_ or I’m gonna have this baby _right here_ ,” she gasps, hunching over a little to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” he says, hand landing on her shoulder and _squeezing_ before he starts rubbing up and down her spine.  “You okay?”

“Fine, great, fantastic,” she mutters, sitting up and, much to her earnest regret, dislodging his hand. 

“You wanna—”

“The thing is,” she interrupts, not quite prepared for whatever reality he’s about to lay on her, as much as she’d wished for it moments before, “I always thought if someone was gonna drunkenly out me here, it’d be _me_.”

Whatever she _thought_ his response would be, laughing in her _face_ was not it.  “I’m sorry,” he chokes, holding onto the wall with one hand, the other clutching his gut.  “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s just that— _Wynonna_ …”

“ _Dolls_ ,” she mocks, scowling.  “You can enjoy this less at, like, any time.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says, wide grin plastered across his face.  “Do you think I’m sexy?”

“I mean,” she struggles, “I mean, I’ve got _eyes_ , so…”

She _thinks_ he says, “Kiss me,” but she’s also pretty sure she’s having a stroke.  She might actually be hearing the dial-up tone.  She’s _very aware_ that she’s gaping, and she may stammer out some approximation of _um, excuse the hell outta me?_   “Do you wanna—”

Hoping she’s not _actually_ having a stroke, she surges forward so hard she thinks she might actually chip her tooth.  She feels his hand on the back of her head, fingers buried into her hair, and it stays there even when she pulls away, rambling a little, “Is this weird?  This is weird.  I’m, like, hella pregnant, and you’re hot, and I’m, like—I shouldn’t—my timing is so—”

“Hey,” he whispers, “Hey, good timing is a myth.”

She chokes on a laugh, lets him draw her in again.  When they break away to breathe, she asks, hand falling to her stomach, “So, this is—we’re okay?”

She’s not really prepared for the flood of warm emotion that comes with him covering her fingers with his own—she feels like she can’t breathe through the lump in her throat even as he says, “We’re okay.”

“Okay,” she breathes.  “Okay, good.”  He pulls her close and it’s weird and awkward hugging someone with a watermelon under her shirt, but it’s not so weird and awkward that she wants him to stop.  “I’m _still_ gonna ruin Haught’s morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to lunafeather for prompting this because, um, yeah. Yeah it's that good. 
> 
> Shoutout to the show for blessing us with drunk!Nicole.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to come by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where, if you ask, I post excerpts from whatever fic I'm working on at the time. Also, I cry about these nerds a lot.


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